The Mountain Ch. 11

Warder bore the critique with an air of distant patience, but the last seemed to snap him awake. "Am I avoiding you?" he asked silkily.

"Not all that well," said Lucy, looking him up and down. "It's apparently very easy to make you angry and that gives you an excuse to come running back to me." She knew she was playing with fire. She didn't care. She wanted Warder angry again if that was the only way he would display any real emotion. He was more a stranger now than he had been inside the mountain.

Warder stalked across the distance left between them and Lucy had to force herself not to flinch. She reached an arm uselessly behind her for something to hold on to, but there was nothing there and when she swayed, it was Warder who grabbed hold of her upper arm, steadying her. "Come here."

"Come...what?"

"Far be it from me to question the command of the great healer."

"Um..."

Warder turned Lucy around and began to walk her towards the bed, his massive form like a wall of fire closing off her means of retreat.

"I don't think..."

"I will hold you. And if your knee improves, I will reconsider your list."

#

There were a lot of protests right on the tip of Lucy's tongue.

I didn't ask you to hold me.

I'm still mad at you.

And, looking at the size of the bed: We won't both fit.

As he had done so many times before, Warder pushed past her protests before she could voice them. He lifted her up and curled around her on the bed, pushing her so far over that she would have fallen off the far side of the bed if he wasn't holding her. One massive arm pillowed under her head, the other draped heavily over her hip. Lucy's entire body radiated with awareness of him, each muscle tensed. Her hands were trapped in front of her and she dug her nails into her palm. As if he could feel the small hurt, Warder reached around her and easily flung them apart, threading his own huge fingers around one hand before pulling it back to her hip.

Lucy wiggled slightly to try to create some space between them and managed only to brush her bottom against the bulge between his legs. She fell still again, her face hot with anger and shame.

She was aware of her breathing, convinced it was no longer something that came naturally. She had to think about each breath and the way her body would move when she let it go. It was the feeling of gasping for breath after running uphill or staying too long underwater.

The rooms in the building were cool at night--they were close to the breeze coming off the sea and the small window across from the door was open. In the quiet, Lucy tried to ignore the heavy rasp of her own breath and the distant thrum of Warder's heart and instead listened hard for the sound of the waves in the distance. As her breathing slowly became more natural, she realized that the heat of Warder's skin where he touched her was radiating through her body, until she was pleasantly warm and tingling with her awareness of him. He barely moved, his own breathing even, and Lucy was angry once more that he could be so unmoved by her presence.

Until she shifted again and felt the evidence of his arousal against her back. She tried to turn to face him, to talk to him, but Warder tightened his arm around her when he felt her move. "Be still."

"Warder--"

"What, exactly, did the healer say?"

"That--that you should hold me."

Warder obliged, adjusting his arms so that she was pressed against his chest. She breathed in the smell of him, leather and sweat and salt. She let her cheek rest on his arm, marveling despite herself at the corded steel of his muscles beneath her.

"What else?"

"What?"

"There is something you are holding back."

"She didn't prescribe sex if that's what you're thinking."

Warder did not rise to the bait, waiting.

"She said you should purr."

It hadn't made sense at the time, but Seastone had seemed certain. Lucy felt silly in the silence that followed. Then, a quiet rumble radiated from Warder's chest.

Lucy gasped despite herself. It was less sound than feeling. She felt the vibrations up and down her back, felt her muscles loosen at the gentle rhythm. Warder pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, the sweet sound still rolling through his throat. Lucy shuddered at the slight tickle of his stubbled cheek against her skin. He nuzzled her neck again, nibbling gently at her skin. Lucy felt a tug deep in her belly. Lucy squirmed away.

"That tickles."

Warder stopped nuzzling her, but the purring continued. He tugged his arm, unsettling her, and drawing her back against him so that she was lying on her back. She felt her breathing speed up and she avoided looking at his face where it loomed above her. She could feel his purr radiating from her center, making her loose and soft.

And very, very wet between her thighs.

She tried to focus on her anger at Warder. On anything. But she was too sleepy and alert all at once, by turns falling almost completely asleep and brilliantly, electrically awake and alive at Warder's touch.

Warder's lips nuzzled at her neck again and he pressed a slow kiss to her forehead, the gentle caress belying the electricity of his unrelenting closeness.

Unbidden, a memory came to her of the first time she and Warder had sex. The very-much-more-than-sex that had passed between them. She felt that now. A kind of deep, thrumming contentment mixed with the wild, dangerous uncertainty of suddenly knowing that part of your own heart beat outside your body. Belonged to someone else.

Warder did not speak. He simply continued to purr, his hands tracing hypnotic, soothing patterns over her skin. When her clothes got in the way, he helped her to remove them and then continued to caress her, until she was lying half-dressed and draped against him, held up only by his arm wrapped around her.

Lucy wanted to push him away. To pull him close. Anything but the tortuous, encompassing heat of his intense, wordless focus.

Twice, she felt herself thrust against him as his hand trailed through the curls between her legs. Twice, Warder hesitated, just barely, before continuing to caress her. She couldn't push the sensations away -- not completely -- because he wouldn't stop touching her. Always, he was somewhere on her skin, so that she could no longer distinguish between the pressure of his hand, the hum of his purr, and the tingling awareness of where he had once been.

Eventually, there seemed no choice open to her but to burn up in the heat of the relentless, wordless assault. Until she was so overwhelmed that her body gave in, falling into a fitful, fiery sleep.

She dreamed of that first time. The unending heat of Warder, the thirst she felt for him as she begged him again and again. The ghost of that sensation she had wanted more than anything in her life while some distant part of her knew it would be the end of it.

#

Warder watched as Lucy slept in his arms. As always, his mate was fighting. He had practice in denying himself after the long wait for her first estrous. Still, he had wondered if he, too, might have begged if she had continued to resist his caresses and to blast strong emotions of passionate, reluctant arousal through their bond.

He had done so many things wrong. Consumed in the nightmare, the anger that raged in him at the thought of his father, he had abandoned and neglected his mate. She needed to be ready for what was to come.

His responsibility. And he had yet to burden her with the worst of it.

He had played it out in his mind, reasoned past what was to what would be. Strategy had been his only defense against his father. And no matter how he planned, there were things racing towards them he did not wish for her to face.

He felt a shudder pass through her body, a return of the tension he had slowly stolen away with his touch and his purr. She clung to him, buried her head against his chest. Then, her eyes flew open.

Wordlessly, unseeing, she screamed.

#

Lucy woke from a nap to a living nightmare.

Her eyes were open--she was almost certain she was awake, but the world had gone fuzzy at the edges. That, and she felt like she was being stabbed.

She wondered wildly if she had entered estrous again, the wild, all-consuming phase of need that had led to her mating with Warder. But this was different. That pain had been edged with desire. It had been swept away by the feeling of Warder's body meeting and melding to hers. This pain was sharp. Unending. And then, it fractured into voices.

#

Warder cradled Lucy in his arms. He had dragged her off the couch before she could fall, wrapped her half-naked form in one of the light cotton blankets from the bed. The screaming was fading, but now she was holding her head and shaking it back and forth.

"No. No, no, no," she whispered.

"Lucy." He brushed a damp fall of hair back from her face. "Lucy."

"What--is happening?" She clapped her hands over her ears to ward off some clamor he could not hear.

Gently, he pulled her hands down and held her closer, nuzzling her with his mouth close to her ear. "There is a connectedness between all omega. It is spiritual. Intangible at times. But it is very real."

"Warder--"

"Our omega here have been cut off from that flow. Even you. But the barrier is gone now."

"I can hear them."

"Ysbael's barrier has fallen," Warder repeated. "You are connected to the omega on the outside."

"It feels like a million voices," said Lucy desperately. "And so many of them are sad." Her voice broke and she reached for him, clutching at his shirt and pulling him even closer. Warder held her tightly, as if he could protect her.

But yet another layer of protection had finally failed.

#

"They're waiting for something," said Mrs. Monroe.

"What do you mean?" asked Lucy.

Mrs. Monroe gave her a sharp look. "Are you sure you are well enough to be out here?"

Her knee was better, but her mind was shattered. She felt worse than the time that she and Sheera had risked an old, half-opened bottle of whisky they found in an empty summer house and drank themselves into a blackout.

Warder, of course, had wanted to renege on his promise to let her serve as lookout once the flow of the omega's pain invaded her consciousness. But Lucy had insisted he teach her to shut them out instead.

"It can't be like this all the time or there would be no omega. None."

And whether it had been because of her determination or her pain, Warder had sat with her until the voices receded, encouraging her to pull on his strength to find some peace. Now, the network was like a noise buzzing in the background. It made her short and sharp and kept her from any real sleep. But it was not a relentless wave and it certainly didn't keep her from looking out towards the sea.

"I'm fine," said Lucy. "I'm good enough," she amended, when Mrs. Monroe's eyes narrowed.

"At least they put you with me," she said finally. "I've been sharp as a tack every day of my life and don't let anyone tell you different."

"I wouldn't believe it if they did," Lucy said fondly. Mrs. Monroe's carefully coiffed silver hair waved lightly in the breeze and her skin looked nearly translucent in the sun. Lucy feared for what was coming for both of them. But it was easy enough to believe the woman would find a way through.

"Is that something?" Mrs. Monroe pointed at a distant shape floating on the waves.

Lucy squinted, removing her sunglasses with a wince. "Just a bird," she said. She tugged her sweatshirt over her knees. Even in the full sun, the air coming off the water had a chill.

"What are they waiting for?" Mrs. Monroe asked again.

"I don't know, exactly," said Lucy.

"You don't have to try to shield me, girl. I'm old. I've lived to see this island taken over once and I am not afraid to see it again. Sorrowful, but not afraid. Do you know your man is watching us?"

It took Lucy a moment to follow the sudden train of thought through the pounding in her head. She turned slightly, but she did not see Warder. Still, she was not particularly surprised to hear that Mrs. Monroe had spotted him. Warder had agreed to let her take a shift. He had not exactly promised not to be nearby.

"He's concerned about me," Lucy confided. "For no reason."

"I assume the reason is whatever happened yesterday," Mrs. Monroe said.

"The barrier fell. Ever since the warriors settled here, they've been using their power to shield the island. Now that their most powerful...witch...is dead, it's gone."

"The fog." Mrs. Monroe nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Seems we've all had a sort of pact to pretend not to notice it. Or, maybe some people didn't notice it at all because they were so wrapped up in their own troubles."

Lucy had noticed it, but she hadn't truly questioned it. Truly, when it started, the fog had felt perversely comforting despite the occupation of the island. Safe. She wondered if she had felt some affinity with Ysabel even then. But she would not ask.

"I have powers sort of like that witch," said Lucy. "It's the real reason Warder kidnapped me when I was trespassing. And yesterday, when the barrier fell, I got all this feedback from other people like me outside the island. I guess normally it would have been there all the time and not be noticeable, but after being cut off it all kind of came rushing in."

"Like when the tide spills over the edge of Hawking Cove," Mrs. Monroe said.

"Yes," said Lucy, although even the tumult of the water against the rocks of the small, familiar island inlet didn't begin to match the onslaught of all of those voices.

All of that pain.

She didn't hear very many words. It was more like hearing feelings. And those feelings pushed out everything in her own head or body until she couldn't see or think. She had been hollowed out and filled with a multitude. Until Warder brought her back, with the same relentless focus he had targeted towards her healing. Touching her, speaking to her, until the awareness of him grew and the voices faded into the background.

"Your faces changes when you think of your man," said Mrs. Monroe.

"This isn't some love story," said Lucy sharply.

Mrs. Monroe made a clucking noise with her tongue. "I'm old enough to know few things are," she said. "I'm only keeping watch and telling you what I see. I told you I notice things. I notice how those warriors are acting now that the fog is gone. Nothing good is coming."

Lucy shook her head. "No."

"I suspect there's more of them out there? Not the nice kind?"

"That's what Warder says. He isn't keeping it secret. He says the islanders won't believe it until it reaches us."

"I like to think we've all managed to make space in our heads for some pretty unbelievable things since these warriors showed up. But I suspect Warder is right."

"People might believe you if you told them," Lucy said, hopefully. "I asked Warder to tell people. To try. But he won't do it. He says that it will make things worse. But even if a few more people knew to prepare themselves, it could save lives."

"Your man is right. Talking won't change anyone's mind. Maybe it would have, before. People become distrustful when they're cut off from outside influences. I used to say you never wanted to challenge an islander during the off-season. And we've been alone out here for over five years." She stopped then, glancing in the direction of the camp where the measured sounds of the Sylphen army going about their tasks was a persistent soundtrack. "Mostly alone."

"If it's really true, more of them are coming. And they aren't going to be peaceful."

"Those of us who are prepared will fight. Those who are not will have a difficult choice to make. And some of them might make it too late."

"You'll shelter inside the mountain," Lucy reminded her. That was the plan for all the lookouts, and any islanders who would agree to follow them. "It's safer there. They won't hurt you."

"I prefer to face what's coming among my own people," said Mrs. Monroe. "I don't approve of the tribalism our islanders are displaying, but I understand it. I was born on this island and I'll die before I let harm come to any of us without standing against it. I'll go to ground only if the others do."

Lucy fell silent. Who was she supposed to stand for? It should be an easy answer. Her parents. Her friends. Her neighbors. But her parents, for good or for ill, would be inside the mountain. And Sheera was one of the Sylphen. Had been hiding it for years. She wanted to cling to the idea that she was human and Warder was not. That he could not have unmade her just by mating her. But when she imagined what it would be like to protect the island, she saw herself fighting side by side with the warriors she still claimed not to trust.

#

They were prepared. They watched for danger. And yet, when it really happened, nothing felt ready or even real.

The outsiders landed in two locations--one, logically, at the docks where ferries and larger ships had once touched down on the island. One, a large beach that had been a favorite with tourists and day sailers. From the dock, it was only a short walk to town.

Those who stayed either underestimated the threat or felt ready to meet it.

They were not ready.

The outsiders came quickly and ruthlessly. Humans were placed in chains. Those who resisted were killed swiftly, a warning to the rest. The rebellion faded almost before it had begun.

The warriors who belonged to the island moved quickly, too. No longer invaders, they met the outsiders with force and quickly subdued the bloodshed. But when the second group made their way through the village from the direction of the beach, there was a moment where it seemed the battle could belong to anyone.

Anyone but the humans.

The warriors who had claimed the island first prevailed. When the last outsider had been captured alive, the humans who had tried to fight back and lived were still chained. Still shellshocked. Staring at the monsters they knew like they were saviors and trying to make space in their traumatized minds for the reality that even worse things lurked outside.

And more would come.